Incarnate
by kotaou
Summary: A separate take on Apparitions, as detailed in TWCH. - Aomine Daiki is thrown into the convoluted system of American high school when his hard work at the Apparition Bureau of Investigations earns him a healthy reward straight from the Kaizer's mouth. And while he's fighting off the prejudice, he's been asked to scour his new home for the missing Fire Apparition paragon Pyros.
1. Chapter 1

**Had this one brewing about for a few months now and decided to try belting out a few chapters to get back into the groove of things. This entire story was born from a headcanon of Kagami driving a black Ford F-150. Completely shameless, I know. Fear not, I have not forgotten Trust Without Cynicism is Hollow. I'll be pulling that one off the back burner very soon.**

**Notes relevant to this chapter:**  
><strong>Paragon: a model or pattern of excellence or of a particular excellence<strong>  
><strong>Molniya [mul-knee-eh]: Russian for lightning<strong>  
><strong>Kōri: Japanese for ice<strong>  
><strong>Schatten [sha-t'n]: German for shadow<strong>  
><strong>Terra: Italian for earth<strong>  
><strong>Aéras [eh-rahs]: Greek for wind<strong>  
><strong>Pyros-original pŷr [pee-r]: Greek for fire (pronounced as pie-ros in-story by English speakers)<strong>

* * *

><p><span>P<span>ROLOGUE

Casimir, Russia

3000 B.C.

Molniya's mind churned as she stared blearily at the same iron-bolted door that had kept her contained far too long. How many years had passed? Twenty? Fifty? Hard to say.

By the look of the withered corpse slumped in a timber chair nearby, it had to have been at least a mortal lifetime. The skin had become ashen and emaciated, hair brittle and lackluster. It had been a fine body. A tall woman with stern features but mischievous eyes, she was youthful and spirited, endowed with a beauty that captivated both sexes. For a time Molniya had allowed lovers, indulged carnal pleasures. But that was before the incident that sealed her fate and imprisoned her in this metal chamber. Only necessities had been furnished within. Candles tossed limpid pools of light through the twelve-by-twelve foot chamber. A narrow bed, a bookshelf replete with material relevant to her interests, and a table for meals hugged the walls. Ones served through a slot in the door. Simple accommodations. Though Molniya, at first, had considered herself lucky. Law provided fellow murderers with far less.

Though, unlike felons, petty or deranged, her cage possessed no windows.

Absolutely no contact with the outside world.

And it was fashioned not to protect her keepers from harm.

It was a safety measure to effectively disable the power of Molniya, the Lightning paragon.

In the beginning, the supreme force of the world created from her own body tangible spirits in the form of elements, which became her children. Schatten, an agent of darkness, came into life first, a solemn spirit. From the ice came Kōri, passive but an impenetrable force. Aéras of the wind molded the earth to create Terra's body. From the skies, in a brilliant flash of light, was birthed Molniya and from her creation came the final child of Mother Nature, the untamable blaze of Pyros. Though all given life by a common mother, Kōri and Schatten distinguished themselves apart from the intimate connection bonding wind to earth and lightning to fire.

Early man were marveled by the spirits and offered their mortal bodies as physical vessels. The effect of the spirits in human form upon the civilizations accelerated man's appreciation for them. _Paragon_ was the denomination awarded to them as the six were deified. Offers for possession were copious. Seeing the popularity of their continued existence another six volunteers were chosen and infused with the essence of Mother's powers.

The _Apparitions_ expanded from a simple dozen and flourished into a thriving body in the course of a thousand years. Flesh evolved to compensate the spirits to a three hundred-year lifespan and when life expired, the paragon was reincarnated into a new body, the cycle unbroken. Kingdoms were established to each paragon and human villages blossomed around them, promoting cohabitation. To prevent an imbalance of power, the paragons elected an Apparition within their lands to rule, allowing the selected to determine a system of government and guide the economy. Though, at times, a paragon was born into the role of a sovereign.

Evidence of reverence for the paragons existed in every village in the way of relics, chronicles, paintings, sculptures, tapestries, and shrines. Worship services were offered. Homages paid and holidays dedicated. The Apparitions became entwined with humans.

And not everyone enjoyed the association.

Renegades within the villages responded to the devotion with vandalism, harassment, and in extreme cases murder. With respect to their independent constitutions, the Apparition kingdoms desisted involvement and the aggressors were persecuted separately, no matter the extent of their crime.

Few times did the sovereigns intervene.

But the defacing of several Pyros monuments by a single man became a threat to neutralize. Reports had provided that the offender was mentally unstable and had committed other felonies in the past. Would he assault the recently reborn Pyros? The Lord, head of the Fire Apparition hierarchy, felt so. Authorities within the village were authorized to act and the man was incarcerated.

Molniya, who'd played a part in sealing the lunatic's fate, had been half a century old—considered a teenager to her people—and was delighted to know her infant brother was safe. Pyros was born to a middle class couple within the kingdom that day, a family apart from her own but no less departed. Apparition doctrine, decided by the ancestral paragons, asserted that scions be awarded an identity separate from their legacies. And her brother had been given the name Tora.

Embittered by the punishments incurred over time, and hateful of the Lord who imprisoned him, the man decided that the Apparitions would pay for their transgressions in the only way he could fathom.

Hours after his sentence, the man escaped his cell, found the home of his target, and stole the newborn Tora from his crib.

He decided he would possess this infant's life and become an Apparition himself.

So he carved out and ate the paragon's heart.

Convinced of his inheritance, the man marched to the village square with the corpse, threw it to the ground, and declared his vengeance.

Local authorities arrested and isolated him in an underground cell.

The village was humiliated, pleading to the government to act.

Molniya did not wait for approval.

She stormed the village alone and, in her fury, killed not only the murderer, but destroyed the entire village in a conflagration of lightning.

The reception of her response was unexpected.

Villages of the Fire kingdom became a tumult of discord and revolt.

_How dare Molniya eviscerate an entire community when only a single man was at fault._

_Why did the Kaizer not contain her?_

_Make her answer for her mistake._

Supporters of Pyros and Molniya, both human and Apparition, protested against a wave of dissenters and civil unrest became rampant. The Lightning kingdom was blamed and disputes escalated from simple disturbances to invasions, the loss of life exploding beyond control.

Molniya's anger was further provoked and she subscribed her countrymen to retaliate.

Not much persuasion was needed.

The people of Pyros waged war against Molniya and the Lightning kingdom.

And the other paragons rushed to mitigate the situation.

But Molniya was inconsolable, driven by sorrow. Aéras and Terra failed to earn her attention and their intrusion aggravated Molniya. She threatened to harm them if they intervened. Schatten stepped up to talk her down—hopeful that her respect for his seniority remained—and expressed his own sadness at the loss of a fellow paragon. And that was something Molniya did not want to hear.

She slaughtered Schatten in her rage.

Kōri, Terra, and Aéras acted fast, combining their efforts to seal Molniya in an earthen casket that Kōri bundled in thick sheets of ice. The paragons crafted a specialized container with four walls of unbroken iron and locked her inside.

Where she resided ever since while the others organized peace.

Few times had she been visited by one of the paragons, all contact established through a glass-barricaded bullseye portal in the door. Schatten was never one of them.

Something that filled her with shame.

She stared ahead from between copper coils. Before her life exhausted, Molniya devised a contraption to sustain her energies, an endeavor completed by shedding slivers of the conductive metal from her meal trays. Two were manufactured and she planted them on the floor and ceiling in the center of the cell. She gyrated between the points in a thick ribbon of bluish white light but as time wore on and her anger ebbed, the stream thinned to a frail series of threads.

The loss of Pyros was more devastating than she could have imagined. And from within this dismal box, she felt nothing of his presence since her confinement. His absence drained her strength enough that she invited death. But would it come?

Her glum thoughts were broken when the portal to her container groaned. Someone was opening it.

The breadth of her light strengthened in anticipation, unsure of whom she was expecting but hopeful to see a familiar face.

Perhaps even her dear brother, resurrected in new flesh.

Aéras, Terra, and Kōri, all wearing a different skin than she last saw, entered.

Schatten's absence hurt but Molniya knew it was justified.

"It's been so long," Terra said. "The Bureau hadn't registered your life force and we were concerned you hadn't passed."

When Molniya was a child, the Apparitions conceived a new branch of government licensed to upholding the laws of the kingdoms both secularly and internationally, including the confirmation of resurrected paragons. Proctors routinely tested the power signatures of every newborn and compared the readings to a specified scale. Every hospital was subject to the investigations.

"Not concerned enough." She couldn't help sounding bitter. "As you can see, my body has long decayed. Were you simply hoping I would reincarnate so you could condemn me to this prison once again as a feeble infant?"

The paragons' faces collectively fell into a mask of despondency. Which surprised her.

So she asked, "What is it?"

Kōri spoke first. "Please, don't confuse our negligence as cruelty."

"An unprecedented phenomenon happened," Terra interjected. "All of our attention was diverted to solving it."

"And you require a felon's assistance?"

Kōri's face scrunched unappreciatively.

"We actually came to apprise you of our findings." Even in a new body, Aéras was sparse with words and the familiarity was strangely comforting.

"So speak them."

Terra stepped further inside and straightened, seemingly steeling himself for the report. "Pyros has not yet reincarnated."

Molniya's current hiccupped, the jagged angular line of her body bowing radically for a moment.

Did that bastard really erase her dear brother forever?

She needed to know, "How long have I been here?"

"Three hundred and twelve years." Aéras again.

She ingested the degree of her isolation. Surprisingly no fury came. Only a sudden affirmation. Pyros was never coming back, his spirit gone. A paragon was incapable of deferring rebirth. It had only ever been theorized that a paragon would truly cease to exist. Was this why she hadn't intercepted a hint of her brother's life for all these years? Perhaps it was the time to surrender it all.

Without Pyros, her existence was incomplete.

Lightning without heat was merely a bright flash.

And that light would now fade into nothing.

Her form reduced to a ribbon, melancholy stalling her motion to a wobble.

"But his power remains," Kōri said.

Molniya perked but it did not show. "Are you certain?"

They all nodded.

"Fire Apparitions continue to be born, their power unhindered," Terra said. "The Bureau conducted an investigation to explain the anomaly. Their theory is that Pyros' spirit inhabited his killer's body. You terminated that man within hours of the transfusion. Forcing Pyros to recycle just shortly after his birth."

Molniya said nothing. Neither did Aéras or Kōri.

"We believe your intervention sent Pyros into hibernation."

It wouldn't be the first occurrence. Two other cases were documented, affirmed by the Bureau upon thorough scrutiny. Fatalities sustained post-birth, pre-death, or during a near-death experience, when the vessel was stressed and vulnerable, proved to be cause.

But _was_ her brother still out there, somewhere?

She chose to voice her uncertainty. "Are you positive you perceived the readings correctly?"

"They are unmistakable, Molniya," Terra said. "Pyros lives, waiting for an appropriate scion."

The current brightened a fraction as her worries were slaked. If even a little.

She trusted her fellow paragons. But she needed to ascertain the truth herself.

"May I go outside?"

There was not a moment of deliberation. All of her contact with them before now was epitomized by distrust, none of them willing to endanger themselves, to breach the defense of the metal portal and approach her. She regretted her selfishness, her ineptitude to compartmentalize her emotions. Redemption had been her goal all those years ago and she was the one who allowed herself to spiral out of control, incite an uprising that led to a war with an incalculable body count, and kill a fellow paragon. That Aéras, Kōri, and Terra came to her unguarded spoke volumes.

And if they allowed her the chance, she would repair the damage she caused in a weak moment of vice.

Terra and Aéras detached the copper coils while maintaining her connection to them. Kōri accepted them between her hands and followed the sibling paragons as they exited the cell.

Molniya was brought to a knoll beyond Casimir, the capital of the Lightning kingdom and took in the almost forgotten sensation of nature. Her pulse invigorated to a healthy thickness and shine, the sheet of gray overhead accelerating the good feeling. True to her compatriots' words, Pyros' signature remained. Like a faint tingle, hardly accessible but still existent.

"I'd like to stretch," she said, spurs splitting from her form.

Kōri nodded and raised the coils above her head, directing Molniya to the overcast.

She darted free and sunk into the clouds. Purplish white light strobed within a moment later and then a columnar bolt crashed down. More strikes occurred in the distance, reaching to barely discernible flashes on the horizon. The episode lasted for a solid minute, then the sky quieted and Molniya returned to the coils. The sickly mien of her light was gone, electricity pulsing between the two points erratically yet with control.

"My brother lives," she said. "And if I may be released, I will rejuvenate and join you all to search for him."

"Of course, Molniya," Terra said, and the smile creasing his mouth filled her with warmth.

She was not foolish enough to believe her sins would be forgiven, responsibility disregarded.

She would rekindle the confidence of her fellow paragons.

Cooperation with the Bureau and kingdoms was a given.

The only uncertainty in her mind rested with Schatten.

And she hoped that, someday, they would find peace again.

As light and darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Typed up a bit of material on this one while lamenting my dissociation from TWCH, though I also have a slight cushion prepared for that story as well that I've to sift through. I'm eager to explore this avenue for the Apparitions and I hope you all find something to enjoy about it. : )**

* * *

><p><span>ONE<span>

Arlington, Florida

October 17, 2012

Aomine strolled the halls, eyes searching for his destination. The schedule printout folded in half in his hand told him his first period class was held in room 219. And he hadn't a clue how to find it. He wasn't an idiot. The syndication of cardinal numbers reached into the Japanese school system, which he'd been mentored under up until half of his last year of high school.

Not a time he remembered fondly.

The problem came from, what he decided, the American's poor method of organization. He'd scoured two wings of his new academic home, Arlington High School, for the last ten minutes and had yet to breach past one hundred and thirty. Where were the double-digit classrooms?

He hadn't seen any so far. If he didn't get his ass in gear, he'd be late. Ordinarily, tardiness was not a concern. But in this place, encouraging any unnecessary attention was critical if Aomine was to endure his time here.

He stopped beside a glass-encased bulletin board, boasting a plethora of announcements on vibrant paper, none of which he could understand, and thought back to that day just a week ago.

When the Kaizer allowed his displacement from Casimir.

_The Tercentenary ball had a huge turnout, which was to be expected. A celebration dedicated to honoring the paragons that created an untold number of Apparitions. Ones like Aomine. His invitation, though warranted, was something he hadn't planned on accepting. Yet the Kaizer insisted, and so he appeared._

_The ballroom was clogged with all manner of races, one of few times the Apparition kingdoms gathered, forgetting current relationships for a single night in the name of indentured gratitude. From his perch near a towering clerestory window, where lukewarm moonlight filtered in unhampered by shears or curtains, he observed the assembly. A patchwork of golds, reds, greens, and blues, all decked in regal ensembles. Refined but not majestic._

_Aomine'd chosen to attire otherwise, donning his Bureau uniform. A pale blue shirt, brown tie, and navy slacks, complete with a collared windbreaker matching his bottoms. Molniya's insignia—a forked lightning bolt encircled by a pair of rings inscribed with the Russian lettering _МОЛНИ—_blazed above his breast pocket, sandwiching his nametag._

_Against protocol, he had yet to meet with Molniya. Law enforcement officers like himself were required an audience with their paragon. Yet Molniya was forever occupied. He believed other circumstances took priority but he wasn't all that eager, anyway._

_Curious, though, no doubt about that._

_He combed the shifting wall of people for gawkers orbiting an unfamiliar face. Though he reasoned with himself that, realistically, had the ever elusive Molniya shown up the ball attendees would have made a scene about it. The other paragons had performed their dutiful shuffle around the ballroom to address their national leaders. Aomine'd witnessed the procession from within the throng, not obligated to ingratiate himself with Terra, Aéras, Kōri, or Schatten and merely observed the parade. Once they disbanded, Aomine had retreated to the other side of the room, hoping to avoid a run-in with Schatten, though he doubted he'd escaped the Shadow paragons' eyes. He was not yet ready for that reunion._

_"I think this may be the largest outcome to date," a new voice said beside him._

_Aomine jolted at the slackened hazy tone and straightened, facing a man half a head smaller than him, dark shaggy hair dressed neatly. Narrow eyes gleamed beneath a pair of glasses, the mouth crooked in a wry smile. Silver chevrons shouted authority on the lapels of a distinguished sport jacket._

_His humble employer and a royal pain in the ass._

_Commissioner Imayoshi Shouichi._

_"Probably all that Pyros hype," he said, maintaining attention._

_Imayoshi chuckled and flicked his hand. "At ease, Daiki."_

_He unhinged his shoulders and folded his arms, eyes finding the swaying crowd again. Voices intermingled with the soft chorus of strings belting a melodious tune opposite them._

_A comfortable silence hung._

_The company was tolerable but the joviality of celebration was lost on him._

_What did he have to celebrate, given all that had transpired?_

_"The Kaizer was very impressed with your work, I heard."_

_He resisted snorting. "Hard to be impressed when you shove my achievements under his nose."_

_"Diligence is to be recognized."_

_This time he did snort. "Don't get soft on me, now. We both know you're wiser than that. Hard work doesn't always pay off and you don't earn pats on the back for doing as you're expected."_

_"Laudatory achievements come in many forms."_

_He noticed the suggestive tone to the commissioner's voice and debated grabbing the bait._

_Imayoshi reached out a finger and tapped a badge pinned to his right breast. "Physical statements and promotions aren't the only gestures of appreciation."_

_He wasn't going to let Imayoshi prey on his mind, so he said, "What are you getting at?"_

_"Your penance has been satisfied," Imayoshi said. "A while ago, I think. How long have you worked with us?"_

_He assumed the commissioner meant to exclude his internship and part-time work in high school. "Six years. Why is this important?"_

_"The Kaizer and I have spoken at length about you."_

_A cold feeling flooded his chest. This would either be beneficial or harmful._

_"Daiki," Imayoshi sighed. "It was so long ago and you served out your punishment. Your return to the Bureau expedited your success and earned you a healthy promotion. We believe you deserve a reward for your efforts."_

_He didn't know what to say. In the past he'd shared conferences with the Kaizer over sensitive legal matters and the associations had always been curt and confined to business, always a solid line between government worker and government leader. To know the Kaizer desired repaying him for his services was more jarring than he would have predicted._

_Imayoshi's brow scrunched curiously, clearly awaiting a response._

_Aomine cleared his throat, arms falling to his sides. "So, hypothetically,"—Why was he challenging their charity?—"this reward. What did you two decide?"_

_The commissioner smiled. "A reassignment. Suspension of your duties within the Bureau to pursue any engagement, anywhere."_

_To say he was surprised would be an understatement. And the disbelief brought a reassuring expression to Imayoshi's face._

_Which, strangely, abated nothing._

_"A one hundred percent serious offer."_

_His face dropped into his hands and a heavy breath left him as he processed the possibilities._

_Imayoshi placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and, after steeling himself, Aomine lifted his head._

_"No restrictions?" he asked._

_"None."_

_He had an idea, one that had lurked in the back of his mind for the last thirty-six years. And however juvenile it may be, he wanted it._

_But that wasn't why he decided to voice it._

_"I'd like to finish high school," he said._

_Imayoshi laughed, a hand shooting to cover the sound. Once he composed himself, he said, "So my earlier disclaimer may be false."_

_He glared._

_"Don't worry." Again with the hand flick. "I admit that I foresaw this outcome and it actually works in both your favor and ours."_

_His stare hardened, knowing exactly who _ours_ was. "Hard to enjoy my vacation if I have homework, _sensei_."_

_"Not homework. The assignment is not only yours. Every investigator and officer is handling the matter."_

_Then it hit him. "Pyros."_

_Imayoshi nodded. "Molniya's probes assured us that a relevant signature exists in the United States. In the southern state of Florida. Attend any school you like and while you embrace academia, look into any clues you find that may lead to narrowing down the identity of Pyros. No deadlines, no checking in. Think of it as extra credit."_

_He couldn't lie, it was an enticing reward._

_There was no question as to his response._

_"I'll take it," he said. "Thank you both."_

_"She would have wanted this for you."_

_Yes, she would have._

_Imayoshi bowed his head and patted his shoulder. "The Kaizer and I will discuss the particulars and brief you." He stepped away, walking backwards, and fanned an arm out at the ballroom. "Until then, let loose. Enjoy yourself."_

Making the decision to continue his education overseas had been easy. Not understanding a lick of English? That was something he'd deferred concern for.

What a moron.

He slumped against the bulletin board casing and crossed his feet, eyes tracing the paper. No way was he finding this place without consulting another student, a passing faculty member, or a patrolling officer.

That was a mind-boggling idiosyncrasy of the American education system that he opted not to understand. Where there were badges and uniforms resided a potential threat to be neutralized.

He fished into his pocket for his cell phone, a replacement that was compatible with America's mobile network, and checked the display for the time.

8:00 AM.

According to the schedule, first period had been in session for ten minutes.

He groaned and dropped his head to the glass.

"Hey."

A voice from behind.

He glanced over his shoulder to see a student approaching and from the look of him he'd managed to piss someone off this morning. At least if Aomine was going by the crumpled shirt and swelling around the left eye and cheek. The newcomer was a tad shorter, his face betraying Asian descent that starkly contrasted to the tight corded braids he sported. What were they called again? Cornrows? What the hell kind of resemblance was there between hair and corn? A set of two silver earrings hugged each ear. Peeking under the hem of a long graphic tee was a revolver belt buckle that anchored knee-torn jeans too far low for Aomine to consider useful. He wondered how the kid swaggered over without them falling.

His hesitation tightened Cornrow's brows impatiently.

"What's a matter, newb? You lost?"

He understood nothing but heard the mockery and smartly deflected it. He flashed the schedule.

"Are you deaf? I asked you a question."

Still he could not reply. Though it was clear that Cornrows was picking a fight.

Why didn't matter and Aomine hoped that if he ignored him, the prick would walk away.

Steely eyes glowed with enlightenment and Cornrows barked a laugh. "Oh, I get it. I got a better look at you now. Real sunbaked for an Asian, darkie. Didn't think they were capable of breeding other monsters out there. Not gonna lie, I almost took you for a black kid."

The influx of English was starting to aggravate him. So he searched his mind for a terse response to transmit the fact that he couldn't communicate. He thought back to his English lessons in Japan and was disturbed at his poor retention. All that tutoring with Tetsu and Satsuki. Essentially meaningless.

"Go away," he said.

Only it came out as _guh ah-way_. And with his baritone, it sounded pitiful.

Cornrows exploded in laughter. "Oh, my god. No way."

Aomine scowled, clenching the schedule hard.

"You expect to learn English and become an upstanding tax-evading immigrant?" Cornrows said after the brunt of his hilarity had waned. "Maybe you're one of those pathetic nerds. Give me that." He snatched the folded page from Aomine's hand.

"What the hell," he snapped, tongue reverting to his vernacular.

He took a step closer and the paper was reeled out of reach. The hand pushed to his chest stirred his anger. A cocky grin set it to a fierce boil.

"What're you gonna do, cry?"

More of middle school came back to him. "That is mine."

His botched pronunciation provoked Cornrows into another fit that was more screeching than laughing.

Enough of this. Detective or not, this punk ran out of chances.

He stretched for the schedule again and Cornrows slid it behind his back.

"Go back to your island, Yao Ming."

Aomine didn't hesitate.

He swung his right arm across his chest and viciously backhanded Cornrows.

His adversary whipped around, releasing the page as he plummeted to the floor.

The prize was retrieved after a moment, where he allowed his heart to calm. Cornrows remained still but feeble nasal inhaling told him he'd knocked the kid out. Though he was certain, he toed the boy's leg anyway and Cornrows groaned.

Good enough for him.

An officer entered the hall, carrying a metallic jingle with her steps, and paused, surveying the scene.

Okay, not so good.

He displayed his hands in surrender.

Her dark aging face tightened in scorn and she reached for her belt as she skated close. "You stay there."

The tone and dutiful march were received and he remained still.

From her waist came a handheld radio that she brought to her mouth as she examined Cornrows. She presumably apprised the recipient on the other side of the channel of the situation and stood. The device was reattached to the belt and she grasped his arm.

Then she led him away from the scene, grip firm in a way he was familiar to exercising himself, and said, "You're in a lot of trouble."

Imayoshi would harangue him for this.

Good thing he didn't have to check in.


	3. Chapter 3

**Enter Kagami and Riko. I didn't feel right just dangling Aomine's introduction, so I compiled an appropriate follow-up chapter from the total 28 pages I have in queue to satisfy myself.**

* * *

><p><span>T<span>WO

Of the few things he'd come across since his migration to the States, Aomine appreciated that American furniture compensated for larger folk. When the policewoman had swept him into the administration office, she directed him to a line of lobby chairs adjacent to a bowing reception desk. Only after he planted himself did she approach a string-bean-looking kid seated behind the counter, stoop over to mutter a few words, then leave. He assessed the space while he slumped into the barely passable seat cushion, arms spilling into his lap.

Antiseptic was the only acceptable description. Eggshell plaster walls were unblemished by posters, advertisements, or announcements, anchoring only one obscenely large analog clock whose rhythmic cadence did not sound. There was nary a splash of vibrant color anywhere. Just off-white walls, crème-stained tiles, and dismal furniture. Had interior décor been a passion of Aomine's, he may actually feel abashed. He tipped his head back, his skull finding the wall with a gentle tap as he leered over the tall countertop of the reception desk. Twenty feet back he identified workspaces, their contents visible through half-walls of plaster and glass. Hardly private, he thought and wondered the significance of transparency.

He huffed a sigh and eyed the clock again.

8:20 AM.

How long did they expect him to sit here?

It was barely an hour into the day.

What the hell could be occupying the principal's time?

. . .

Kagami silently fumed as he lifted out of the chair and strode to the door, slinging his backpack onto one shoulder. He told himself to just breathe. Simmer down and not let it get to him. The same mantra he'd been repeating for every past incident. Which wasn't easy when his right hand was screaming. And with Principal Aida Riko trailing behind him on their way out of her personal office, he couldn't afford to be hostile.

He pushed the aluminum slab open, stepping aside to allow the petite woman to clear the entrance before releasing it.

She approached a plastic tray on the reception desk and rifled through the submissions for review. Probably more disciplinary complaints. A petulant part of him hoped the offenses, if applicable, were more of Haizaki's work, so that dick would finally face justice.

The thought irked him. But now wasn't the time.

Principal Aida had already dismissed him.

Maybe he would get a chance the next time Haizaki struck.

"Taiga." Her stern voice broke his thoughts. "We're done here. Get to class."

No, he decided.

They weren't done.

"Why isn't he up here getting reamed? He started it."

The stack of papers in her hands was slapped to the laminate countertop and she groaned. "That may be," she said, spinning and leaning against the counter lip, arms folded as either a sign of authority or displeasure—probably both. "But you threw the first punch." She shrugged, arms dropping to clap her dress pants-clad legs. "My hands are tied."

Not this again.

"This is what he does." He was careful to dial down his tone. "Are you seriously not going to intervene because he doesn't hit first?"

Her eyes hardened and she pushed off the desk, posture becoming rigid. "I have enough people to pacify, Taiga. Take a number."

"Principal Aida—"

She raised her hand, fingers and thumb pressed together in a gesture for silence, and said, "Zip it. Control your temper. Be the bigger person and ignore him. You'd probably be the first." She scooped up the discarded pages. "You're excused," she said, motioning with the stack to his injured hand. "Ice that."

He stiffly bobbed his head and headed for the propped open office doors.

Son of a bitch.

. . .

Aomine watched the interaction behind the high-rise of the reception desk, barely able to see a tiny brunette over the lip hashing something out with a student. Whatever they were discussing, the accused wasn't having any of it, his disappointment palpable even through the language barrier.

He wasn't interested in a debate he could not understand but he found himself examining the probable troublemaker under scrutiny. Short choppy hair mutilated with the strangest dye job he'd ever seen. That didn't compare with the forked brows or intense red eyes. This one was probably a hair taller than Cornrows with a meaty build that spoke of dedication to athleticism. Definitely not muscle-building or running; his upper body looked solid but without the obsessive bulge of muscle. Which left sports. With that height, it was either American football or basketball. The sun-kissed skin suggested either.

When he heard the clap of papers and sensed tensions rising, he directed his attention elsewhere. Last thing he wanted was for his _bizarre_ appearance to confound another bigoted American. Even in Japan his abnormal stature and darker skin was approached with gossip and rumor. But back home he could counter the backlash, if provoked to do so. There was a distinction between recognizing a unique characteristic and disparaging the person for it.

"You."

He whipped his head to the sound and spotted that same tiny brunette leaning around the raised counter. She crooked a thin finger at him. From the look on her face and the brooding aura trailing after the departing student, this wasn't looking like a good morning for her. He shared her sentiments.

He rose and slid the abused schedule into his back pocket as he threaded the narrow space between the bank of chairs and crescent countertop of the reception desk. Forked Brows clipped his shoulder upon passing and their eyes met. Aggravation blazed beneath scrunched brows and the curl of his lip kindled a similar irritation in Aomine. The moment was fleeting and a silent agreement passed between them as they continued on their separate paths.

_Stay out of my way._

He neared the little woman who commanded a presence of experience contending with unruly teens, no measure of stress behind her vibrant eyes. She reeled the door that she and Forked Brows had come out of minutes earlier open and tipped her head, gesturing to enter.

Aomine obeyed.


	4. Part One-03

THREE

As Aomine sat in another lobby chair with less padding than before he considered submitting an inquiry into investigating genetic anomalies to explain if a mutation had mysteriously erupted and increased the height average of Japanese males. It had only taken a few seconds after seating him for the principal to figure out that he could not understand English. She'd excused herself, poked her head out of the room, and jabbered a command beyond, then returned to her seat, sinking into it comfortably. Thirty seconds later a boy that Aomine could only describe as a tree ambled inside. The third towering Asiatic person he'd encountered in the last twenty minutes.

The newcomer was tall and broad, with thick arms and large hands. Short messy brown hair topped a face with long features and almond eyes set below a pair of hefty yet tamed brows. From the shoulders hung a loose pink t-shirt and an orange armband snuggled the left sleeve where Aomine could interpret a leg and arm of a capital A. Everything about this guy screamed _big_. But as foreboding as his stature implied he appeared laidback and harmless. What was the word for people like this?

_Gentle giant_. And they may have hit the nail on the head with this one.

Aomine sat with mild irritation as the two bandied words, feeling like an infected kid trapped in a bubble that everyone kept bouncing around, avoiding responsibility. Finally the tree turned to him, a stupidly honest smile stretching his lips, and held out a welcoming hand.

Aomine hesitated, unaccustomed to western greetings, but accepted the offering.

"I'm Kiyoshi Teppei," he said in Japanese. "Aida tells me you've gotten into some trouble already on your first day."

Considering that he'd coldcocked a kid that was an understatement.

"Something like that."

Kiyoshi snickered, arced around him, and plopped onto the neighboring seat.

The principal leaned forward, elbows propped on her chair armrests, fingers woven together. She asked that Kiyoshi understand the extent of the situation from him and translate it to her so the matter could be resolved. So he expounded the affair. How Cornrows approached and taunted him, possibly using derogatory slurs, then appropriated his schedule. With provocation, Aomine reacted and dropped his harasser to the floor. He made sure to express clear intent to disarm, rather than injure. Kiyoshi relayed the information and once he finished, the principal stroked her chin, her other hand drumming the polished armrest.

"Alright," she said and pointed a finger at Aomine but kept her attention on Kiyoshi. "This will be a warning. Daiki's new in this country and misunderstandings are to be expected until he conforms to the language." Kiyoshi was allowed a moment to interpret her words. She looked to him and continued, "But that does not make you immune to disciplinary action. Punching out other students is a violation and will be dealt with severely if you repeat it."

Once he was informed, he took a moment to clarify something that was bothering him. So he turned to Kiyoshi and asked, "Why did she call me Daiki?"

Kiyoshi's brows shot up in surprise then sunk as he laughed good-naturedly. "She's unfamiliar with Japanese cultural mannerisms when addressing people. Born and raised here with third generation parents. Practically an American. In this country, the given name is used."

He didn't hesitate to scowl and chanced a peek at the principal, who sat patiently and unbothered. How, he did not understand. Being in a position where you felt deaf and mute to all those around you was becoming immeasurably frustrating.

"Well, I don't like it," he said.

Again Kiyoshi laughed. "I mean this without disrespect, but you'll find that the kids here are too accustomed to familiarization. You'll be hearing your name possibly until you graduate."

He repressed the urge to hang his head. Had he paid attention in middle school, he would have been prepared for this cultural idiosyncrasy. Now he would have to weather it with everyone he came into contact with and, until he learned to convey his distaste with it, he could do little to change it.

"I think you meant to say the kids are too ignorant."

Kiyoshi smiled.

The principal cleared her throat and both he and the gentle giant attended to her. She pulled back her sleeve to view her watch then shoved out her chair. He intercepted the signal, as did Kiyoshi, and both stood with her.

"You'll be his buddy until he acclimates to the school, Teppei," she said and Aomine withheld a sneer. "See him to his classes but don't skip your own."

The dope saluted her and they were ushered out of the office.

They paced the halls of the second level of the atrium—where administration was located. Beyond a chest-high barricade laid the lunchroom below where a series of retractable benches formed five orderly columns. Strips of red and black banded the wall at waist level, racing past locker stands and classroom entryways, all ruddy in color. Red tiles stretched on, though in a less saturated shade that gave a lukewarm feeling to the place.

Kiyoshi nudged his arm and curled his fingers beckoningly.

Aomine produced the schedule and handed it over. "Playing tour master?"

"They'd have to pay me," Kiyoshi smirked, eyes glued to the crumpled sheet. "And because I'm seventeen that would be child extortion. Think of me as a big brother."

"I hear they have self-help classes for those types of complexes, Kiyoshi."

The giant laughed. "Call me Teppei, please."

He scrunched his nose.

"Your choices are either Teppei or _oni-chan_."

Aomine groaned, head dipping back with a hint of frustration. Kiyoshi may act like a dope but clearly he was more clever than he let on, meting a dose of obstinance that warned Aomine _respect my culture and I'll respect yours_.

He lifted his head and sighed.

Kiyoshi's lips peeled back with ecstatic vigor.

The enthusiasm overload was starting to bog him down. How could a person smile so damn much? He decided he'd seen the last of them from this oaf today and engaging an emotionally draining day of academia while being the target of scrutiny, scorn, and biased observation was more tolerable.

So he bopped the lug's shoulder.

"Don't you have a job to do? Lead the way, Teppei. Room 219 isn't gonna find me."

. . .

8:25 AM

Kagami plowed the halls after descending to the ground floor, feet seeking the desired classroom. The hall pass clenched tight in his fist permitted his post-bell stroll. He threaded through the lunchroom, found an exit, and hugged a locker-lined wall bracketing the quad. Numbered portals broke the chain of compartments every forty feet, square porthole windows allowing a peek inside. He could easily have crossed the quad to reach his class on the other side. The terrace unraveled thirty-by-twenty yards and was dotted with towering birch and drooping oak, all slobbering with Spanish moss. Bunches of oleander and sprigs of firebush margined four intersecting pathways. Shy of a dozen park tables lay strewn about, their addition meant to preserve the turf from sustained abuse by students. But he needed time to cool down.

Aida's criticism weighed heavy on his mind.

How many times had he been reprimanded for Haizaki's aggression, his innocence questioned and testimony disregarded?

Too many.

He brought the hand not clutching the hall pass to palm his forehead, brushing his fringe aside.

His temper always had been a problem.

Especially when his attacker knew which buttons to push.

And Haizaki was a quick study.

A voice from the quad halted his thoughts and he stopped. "A little late, aren't you?"

Ambling across the lawn came a familiar face. Male, about his age with blond hair that capped the head in short spikes. Thin brows swept over narrow gray eyes and oval-rimmed glasses. The body was trimmed with lean muscle that suggested some form of athleticism. Kagami overshadowed him by half a head. Rung around the left sleeve of a charcoal graphic tee was a yellow armband imprinted with a large typeset A.

The captain of Arlington's varsity basketball team. Hyūga Junpei.

Kagami straightened as the captain neared.

"Not like you to play hooky, Taiga." The address was acceptable.

Hyūga was one of many second and third generation Japanese-Americans with little to no cultural attachment to their national heritage. A disposition Kagami understood well and was himself adjusted to. Few people, aside from school administrators, used his surname.

He sighed, "Yeah. Came into a little disturbance this morning."

Hyūga cocked a brow, appraising him curiously before homing in on his closed fist. He gestured to it and said, "Should I be concerned?"

Kagami shoved the slip into his pocket. "No. And shouldn't you be in class, Jun?"

A tiny wire of purplish white light jutted from Hyūga's crinkling eyes and Kagami flinched.

He tried to escape Hyūga's dissecting glare by diverting his eyes.

Needle-like pain pricked his neck and his hand clamped over the sting. Not again.

He glared at the captain. "Watch it, sparky."

No amusement filled Hyūga's stare. Only scorn.

Then he understood.

"Who told you?"

"Who said anyone had to?"

Kagami rolled his eyes. "Alright, Detective Conan. Explain your so-called findings."

"This isn't the first time I've seen you stride the halls with that melancholic self-loathing expression. So what happened?"

He really did not want to admit to punching Haizaki. That would only validate Aida retracting her accountability.

Hyūga's voice took on a demanding undertone as he called for Kagami's attention.

He grumbled indignantly, shrugging his bag higher. "Haizaki baited me and I hit him."

He tensed, eyes screwed shut, expecting another shock. School doctrine enforced heavy regulations on Apparitions, identified by color-coded armbands, to limit any expression of power during hours. The captain studied the restrictions of his breed and found a loophole. Hair-thin bolts were not expressly forbidden because little harm came from them.

Bullshit.

He cracked an eye open warily to see Hyūga's raised hand hovering before his face, middle finger cocked and loaded against a bowed thumb. A zing of electricity bit his forehead when the captain flicked him.

Kagami slapped Hyūga's hand then went to soothe the pain. "God dammit, will you stop that?"

"Quit disappointing me and I'll consider it."

"Like you've never been harassed by Haizaki."

Hyūga scowled, eyes flickering with insult. "You know I have."

Kagami pursed his lips. Right. Unsafe territory.

Hyūga deflated. "If you've any hope of making varsity, stay out of trouble. I'm not telling you to turn the other cheek, but don't give him your third strike either."

"Ken'll roast my ass before I get my third strike."

The captain chuckled and popped his knuckles on Kagami's shoulder. "Get to class."

He smiled and watched Hyūga's retreating form disappear into the portal he'd earlier used.

Strangely his temper had weakened but he paid it no mind.

He diverted to the nearest quad passage and smoothed the hall pass as he neared his first period class.

It would be okay.

Hyūga braced up and became impervious to Haizaki's torment.

And so would he.

. . .

East Arlington

8:30 AM

Akashi's concentration was interrupted by a soft vibration in his pocket. He maintained an air of diligence over a spread calculus textbook and surveyed the instructor's watch. The aging woman with a bob of thinning blonde-gray hair reclined in a plush swivel chair with a Styrofoam cup in one hand and a folded-open spiral notebook in the other. No immediate threat of detection. It was not his way to text in class, but it was rare to receive one while lessons were in session.

He fingered the device and brought it under the lip of the desk, sneaking cursory glances to access a new message.

It was from Junpei at Arlington high.

_Taiga got into it with Haizaki again. Looks like he fucked up his knuckles or something. Deal with him._

A displeased sigh passed through his nose. When would Taiga learn?

He bounced his eyes between the screen and pages laden with graphs and equations to thumb a response.

_I'll take care of it._

The phone was returned to his pocket. He wished he could say it had been a while since he had intervened on behalf of his brother's impetuous nature. Well, half-brother to be accurate. The circumstances of their relation were far from traditional and average. A product of suppressed affections, a culturally-inspired dedication to preserving commitment, and parental arbitration. But Kagami Kenshin overcame those obstacles and raised two boys from separate mothers whose only commonality was their unusual red hair. Age had been a factor that disrupted any chance of bonding as youths, Akashi's mature intellect was too advanced for an attention-starved Taiga to understand and adapt to. Akashi only made the effort when he learned of the black mark tarnishing Taiga's childhood. They did not possess the nuclear brother-brother relationship. But they were family.

He glossed the material laid out before him, interest lost. Four incidents had transpired since late August, all of which had been reported by Junpei and each time Akashi slid down off the fence and coerced Taiga to mind himself. He even offered friendly basketball scrimmages on their home court to drain what he believed to be a surcharge of energy. But something had his brother coiled tight.

Striking another student was a problem that he needed to mitigate quickly. Any aspirations of being recognized for professional basketball would disintegrate if his brother punched out every aggressor who triggered him.

His distant gaze found the windows towering on the other side of the room where sunlight faded in between splits in the clouds. Along the wall of pine and cypress he spotted a hawk scouring from a scraggly branch for its next meal.

Well there was an idea. A third party opinion _would_ help.

But he wouldn't seek the hawk.

Rather the hawk's keeper.

Again with stealth, he retrieved his cell phone, filtered through his contacts and found _Midorima Shintarō_.

His thumb skated across the keys.

_Meet me at the usual place for lunch. I need your ear._

* * *

><p><strong>I wasn't going to include Akashi's part in this chapter, but it was relevant to Kagami's predictable stupidity. Don't ask me why but I enjoy the idea of Akashi and Kagami as brothers. (Not entirely because of the red hair, either.) For the same reasons delineated in <em>TWCH<em>, I kept Hyuuga's hair both short and blond.**


End file.
